Summer's Awakening (42 page)

On the safe topic of Emily's future, she had become less conscious of the awkwardness of turning down one's employer, even when no feelings were involved. Now the word husband rekindled her discomfiture.

He said shrewdly, 'Don't look so worried. Nothing has changed. There's no need for you to feel uncomfortable.'

'I—I may have been rude to you... certainly ungracious,' she said, flushing. 'It was so very unexpected. I expressed myself too forcefully. I'm sorry.'

'Don't apologise for speaking your mind.'

His tawny gaze shifted to her mouth. She knew he was going to kiss her and this time she didn't recoil but stood still, hypnotised by the glinting smile in his eyes and the curling movement of his lips as they drew back from his white teeth. The certainty that, in a moment, she would feel those firm lips on her own made her insides clench with excitement. But she showed no visible reaction as he put his hands on her waist and drew her towards him.

She had discarded her sweater while she was fetching her sketches. His palms were warm through the thin Madras cotton of her pink and blue Ralph Lauren shirt. He slid his hands higher up her sides, making her sharply aware of their closeness to her breasts. In spite of her unisex clothes—the boyish plaid shirt and pale blue jeans—she had never been more conscious of her femininity and of the soft contours of her body compared with the hard planes of his.

Their bodies were not in contact when he bent to kiss her. But soon they were breast to chest, hip to hip and thigh to thigh, as they had been in the pool in Florida. Only this time she wasn't naked and she wouldn't have cared if she had been. Nothing mattered but being in his arms, clasped to his tall, strong body, her hands clutching his broad shoulders, her lips soft and yielding under the pressure of his.

This time he wasn't as gentle as he had been in New York. For a few mad moments, she thought he might pick her up and carry her to his bedroom. If he had, she wouldn't have resisted. Love and longing blazed up inside her and reached a flashpoint, consuming all her normal controls and leaving nothing but an aching need to respond to the urgent desire which she knew had flared up in him. She could feel his body's reaction to holding her and kissing her.

Once she would have struggled to break free, but tonight she had reached a pitch when her starved senses clamoured for fulfilment. The physical proof that he wanted her ignited a wild exultation. She flung one arm round his neck while her other hand travelled higher, delving into his dense dark hair and feeling the shape of his skull.

He lifted his head and said thickly, 'Now do you doubt that we should enjoy making love?'

Without waiting for her to answer, he tilted her head back and began kissing her neck, making her gasp and shudder as he found a place behind her ear where the heat and pressure of his mouth was almost unbearably pleasurable.

But that delicious sensation was abruptly terminated when the sound of footsteps on the cat-walk and the murmur of voices reminded them they were not alone at the cottage.

With a smothered exclamation of annoyance James straightened and slackened his hold on her. For three or four seconds they stared at each other, both with heightened colour and fever-bright eyes.

Then, knowing that in a few moments Emily and Dave would breeze in, she broke free from James's already loosened embrace and fled to the privacy of the bathroom.

At first light, after a restless night, Summer went for another walk. When she returned, James was doing press-ups on the deck. The sight of his muscular torso immediately reanimated the feelings she had been striving to suppress.

Annoyed with herself, she gave him a frigid good morning as he sprang lightly on to his feet.

'Wait a minute.' As she would have entered the cottage, he caught her by the wrist, forcing her to halt. 'Emily isn't up yet—which gives us a chance to finish our conversation.'

'I don't think there's anything more to say. What happened last night didn't prove anything... or change anything. I—I'd prefer to forget it,' she said stiffly.

He lifted an eyebrow. 'Can you?'

The answer to that was—No, never. Not if I live to a hundred.

While she was searching for a false answer, he said, 'Okay, we don't have to discuss it now if you don't want to. But I believe you'll change your mind eventually. Take your time... think it over carefully. It makes a lot of sense, Summer.'

He released her and reached for the sweat-shirt which was hanging over the rail. As he pulled it over his head, she had a last glimpse of the smooth brown chest and taut midriff which she longed to be able to touch.

'I'll go and fix breakfast,' she murmured, turning away.

In the kitchen she busied herself with the routine of making coffee, chopping up fruit and spooning out thick creamy yogurt. But her mind wasn't on the tasks which occupied her hands. She was thinking about his final words. They repeated in her head like a record replaying the same groove over and over.

It makes a lot of sense, Summer... a lot of sense... a lot of sense.

Perhaps it did make sense—to him. But how, loving him as she did, could she ever be satisfied with a marriage which, on his side, was purely practical? James himself had told her she had a romantic temperament, and he had been right.

She needed to be told she was loved with words as well as caresses... to be looked at with eyes which held adoration as well as desire.

In a way, his extraordinary proposal reminded her of a tempting dessert—lemon meringue pie or chocolate cake topped with frosting and sprinkled with nuts—offered to a fat person. The slogan to remember in that situation was: A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.

This was a parallel situation. The temptation to experience his love-making was almost irresistible. She wanted to sleep with him even more than she had once craved fattening junk foods. But if she succumbed to her longing, she knew the price of her pleasure would be the pain of knowing that sooner or later he would tire of her. Without love—the durable fire—how could it be otherwise? All other flames burnt out.

Later that morning the mailman brought a letter from Raoul.

My dear Summer,

I miss you.

On the twentieth of this month I'm giving a party at Old Lyme. I hope you'll be able to come. I can't ask Emily to come with you because there is only one small guest bedroom at the cottage. My room will be occupied by Andrew and Nancy Sinclair, two close friends whom I see too seldom since they moved to Canada. I shall sleep in my workroom.

Could you come to New York on Friday and travel down to the cottage with me, returning on Monday morning? I'm sure you can be spared for one weekend. I'd like you to see the cottage and meet my friends. My sister will be at the party. She wants to thank you in person for the bracelet you made her.

Do come. It's too long since we talked. Raoul.

She was alone when the letter arrived. James, who also had a bicycle on Nantucket, had gone with Emily to Siasconset, a village at the other end of the island always called 'Sconset' by anyone who knew Nantucket. They had taken a box lunch with them and were planning to be out all day. Summer could have gone with them, but she wanted to do some work, and she thought it a good thing for them to spend time together without her tagging along.

Raoul's letter pleased her. She had missed him, too. He was such a comfortable person, and she was never on edge with him. It was typical of his considerate nature that he made it clear they wouldn't be alone at the cottage, and to foresee that it would be difficult for her to reach Old Lyme except by the method he suggested.

She wondered if it would turn out to be a birthday party. She had better take a present, just in case. In New York choosing something for him would have been no problem. Here it was more difficult. There were some delightful shops on the island, notably Nantucket Looms which always had covetable knitted garments and beautiful hand-woven fabrics. But to buy clothing for a man was tricky without knowing his collar size and leg length. It would probably be wiser to go to Mitchell's Book Corner and find a book for him.

It was late in the afternoon when the others returned and found her busy at her embroidery frame on the sunlit deck. She stopped work to make tea for them and to hear about their expedition which had included a ramble on foot to Gibbs Pond in the wild area known as The Commons because it had once been common pastureland shared by the island's early settlers.

It wasn't until later, when they had changed to go to a Saturday night barbecue at one of the large summer houses on the Cliff, that she said to James, 'Would you mind if I took a Friday-to-Monday holiday later this month? I'm sure Hetty would let Emily sleep at her house, or come and sleep here.'

'By all means,' he answered.

'Where are you going?' asked Emily.

'Raoul and his sister are giving a party at Old Lyme. They've asked me to spend the weekend there. She wasn't quite sure why she included his sister in the invitation. 'You won't mind my being away for a few days, will you? I shall only be gone for three nights.'

'Of course not,' the younger girl said readily.

But it would be the first time they had spent a night apart since arriving in America, and Summer sensed that, inwardly, Emily was disappointed at being left behind.

'Perhaps you'll be able to come here that weekend,' she said to James.

'Possibly—or Emily might prefer to spend the weekend at the apartment.

The next day he took them sailing on the sheltered waters of the huge inner harbour protected from the ocean by a barrier of sand and beach grass. Summer seemed to have outgrown her childhood tendency to feel queasy if a boat even rocked at her moorings. However, although she enjoyed harbour sailing now, she wasn't sure how she would fare in a large boat in rougher conditions.

Later, when they went ashore for a picnic lunch, she cut the sole of her foot on a broken bottle concealed in the sand. She had been running, and the sudden sharp stab of pain made her lose her balance and fall. When she didn't get back on her feet the others realised something was amiss and came over to find her looking with dismay at the bright red blood welling from a cut on the ball of her foot.

'The first thing to do with that is to wash off the sand and see what the damage is. I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the water,' said James.

He slid an arm under her knees and the other round her back and swung her up against his broad chest.

'Put an arm round my neck,' he instructed.

After the initial pain of the injury, her foot was now in the numb stage before the cut began to hurt. As he carried her down to the water's edge, she was conscious only of his strength and of the intimacy of being cradled against him, her arm round his powerful shoulders, her face close to his.

Although she now weighed a little under the recommended weight for her height, she was a tall girl and, as a result of daily workouts, quite strong herself even though her muscles didn't show the way his did. Not many men would have carried her as easily.

He walked into the water until it came up to his calves.

'Stand on your good foot and hang on to me for support.'

He lowered her legs towards the water and held her steady while he turned round and, like a blacksmith shoeing a horse, turned the sole of her injured foot upwards.

She steadied herself with a hand on the small of his back, feeling his left hand supporting her ankle while he rinsed away the sand.